


Sticky Toffee Pudding

by remedialpotions



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, also Dobby makes an appearance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 13:55:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16160273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remedialpotions/pseuds/remedialpotions
Summary: While on prefect rounds one night, Hermione and Ron sneak into the Hogwarts kitchen for a little late-night snack.Set during HBP. Winner of the Gluttony category for the 2018 Seven Deadly Sins Fest on Tumblr.





	Sticky Toffee Pudding

“No,” said Hermione, though it was with resignation that she watched Ron stretch out a hand and tickle the pear in the painted bowl of fruit before them. “No, Ron, we are not-“

“Oh, but we are.” He tossed a grin over his shoulder at her and turned the door handle that appeared in the painting, exposing a narrow passageway. “Come on now.”

His hand closed around her arm, fingertips pressed against her inner wrist, and Hermione hoped he couldn’t feel her pulse quickening beneath her skin.

“We’re supposed to be on rounds,” she argued, though half-heartedly: it was hard to want to oppose him when he was looking at her like that, blue eyes gleaming with mischief, his hand still locked around her wrist.

“And we are,” said Ron as they stepped into a vast, high-ceilinged room, a fireplace smoldering on one end, four massive wooden tables filling the stone floor. “Maybe I’m looking for wrongdoers - what if I find Harry and Ginny snogging in here? Isn’t it my-“ He cast briefly about for the appropriate term- “my prefectly duty-“

“ _Prefectly duty?!_ ” repeated Hermione incredulously, not bothering to fight the laughter bubbling up in her chest. “Yeah, right. You’re here because you’re hungry - and Merlin only knows how-“

But he merely gave a casual shrug, his eyes locking on hers again, the corner of his mouth tilting upward. “We’re celebrating.”

Ron had been walking on air since the Quidditch cup two weeks ago, and after such a dark, tumultuous school year, Hermione had revelled in the fresh energy in his step, his easy laughter, his near-perpetual smile. Every instance of harmless mischief since - late-night broomstick rides or games of wizard chess when he should have been revising - was justified on the grounds of celebrating Gryffindor’s victory, and it showed no signs of stopping.

From across the room came a pitter-patter of little feet, and Hermione caught sight of Dobby - decked out in several knitted hats, a pair of checkered children’s shorts, and mustard-colored socks pulled up to his knees - hurrying across the kitchen. Several more elves, all dressed in towels emblazoned with the Hogwarts crest, peered curiously at them from around corners and behind stacks of cookware.

“Master Wheezy!” exclaimed Dobby, skidding a halt in front of Ron. “Dobby is so happy to see you, sir!”

“Hey, Dobby,” said Ron kindly, dropping Hermione’s arm to crouch down and shake hands with the elf. “I like your outfit.”

He made eye contact with Hermione as he spoke, and butterflies fluttered to life in her stomach. When had he become so charming? He had always been funny, and clever, and bickering with him had always ignited in her a secret thrill, but the draw to him now was growing more difficult to resist by the second. 

“Thank you, Master Wheezy!” Dobby’s big, round eyes glowed with unchecked joy. “And Miss Granger! What is you doing here, miss? Whatever you is wanting, miss, Dobby will get it for you, miss-“

“Don’t worry about it, mate,” said Ron as he straightened up to his full height. “We can find it ourselves.”

As he strode over to a cupboard that stretched from floor to ceiling, Hermione briefly entertained the idea of arguing with him again - they really _were_ supposed to be patrolling the castle, not making covert trips to the kitchens - but then Ron began piling cakes and pies and puddings onto one of the wooden tables, and she decided to let it slide. She loved this version of Ron, had missed him dearly during their months-long estrangement, and thought she would rather just embrace it. She wasn’t interested in losing him again.

“How can you possibly be hungry?” Hermione wondered aloud as Ron grabbed two forks from a drawer. “We had dinner not two hours ago-“

“We’ve been friends for six years,” replied Ron, hopping up to sit atop the table next to his bounty, “and you’re still questioning how much I can eat?”

Hermione gave a shrug of concession. “All right, good point.”

He patted the patch of table that wasn’t covered with food, holding out a fork in invitation, and Hermione was drawn toward him like a magnet. As she situated herself on the opposite side of the small mountain of desserts, Ron poked his fork into a wedge of rich chocolate cake and broke off a generous piece, lips closing around the silverware as he tasted it.

“You’ve got to try this,” he declared, nudging the cake toward her. “I realize it’s not like that sugar-free rubbish your parents are always sending you-“

“It isn’t rubbish,” said Hermione, sampling her own tiny bite of the cake. “They’re just trying to keep me from getting cavities.”

“Wizards don’t get cavities,” said Ron, flippant, now digging into a massive sticky toffee pudding. “At least - I don’t think-“

“You’re barking,” said Hermione, hoping the affection in her voice wasn’t as painfully obvious as it felt.

“So are you,” he grinned back. Inching closer to her, he tapped his leg teasingly into hers, inciting the butterflies in Hermione’s stomach to riot. 

Did he know the effect he had on her? She had tried so hard, since they had mended their friendship, not to show her hand, terrified to repeat the disaster that had resulted from asking him to the Christmas party. But lately, with Harry’s every free moment occupied by Ginny, they had been spending so much time just the two of them, and Ron had been… different. Different in the best ways, he was open and playful - she wouldn’t let herself think that he had actually become flirtatious, it seemed like too much to ask - but it also seemed like she didn’t need to chalk it up to a Quidditch victory anymore.

“Oh my God,” he chortled, peering down in amusement at their legs, tapping his calf against her dangling foot. “Look how short your legs are next to mine - I mean, I knew you were short, but-“

“You’re one to talk,” Hermione fired back. “I used to wonder if you got in the way of a Stretching Jinx when you were younger.”

“Coulda happened,” said Ron around a bite of pudding. “I grew up with the twins, don’t forget.”

With a laugh, Hermione shifted on the table to face him more fully, bending her knee so that it rested next to a bowl of strawberry ice cream. She would never admit it aloud to him, because he would never let her hear the end of it, but stealing away with him to a corner of the castle would always prevail over her responsibilities. Everyone thought she was such a stickler for the rules, but that wasn’t always true: she simply chose which ones she wanted to follow. 

And now, with Ron smiling at her over the decadent array before them, she thought she might not want to follow any. 

“So we’re still celebrating the Quidditch cup then, are we?” asked Hermione, extending her arm to pluck a cube of fudge from the platter by Ron’s hip.

“I will always be celebrating it,” stated Ron seriously, licking toffee sauce from his thumb. “Gryffindor hasn’t won two Quidditch cups in a row since - since I don’t even know when, but it’s been a long time. Even Charlie only ever won it once.”

The pride in his face was unmistakable, beaming out of every pore.

“You deserve it,” said Hermione softly, eyes searching his.

“I don’t know,” replied Ron, suddenly bashful, his gaze fixed on his fork as it sank into the sticky toffee pudding again. “I reckon I mostly just got lucky.”

“No, you didn’t.” Hermione inwardly delighted as the tips of his ears turned pink. “Harry proved that to you this year, you don’t need luck at all.”

“Well.” Ron busied himself with a mouthful of pudding, chewing thoughtfully. “I mean, everyone needs luck for something, yeah?”

“Yeah,” was all Hermione could muster, consumed as her senses were by his tongue sneaking out to lick a smudge of toffee sauce from the corner of his mouth. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

“Am I?” Ron affected amazement. “I can’t believe it, Hermione Granger finally admits I’m right on something, and only Dobby’s around to hear it-“ 

But when he glanced around the kitchen, there was not a trace of a house elf anywhere.

“They must have gone to clean the common rooms,” said Hermione.

“So we’re alone.”

Ron smashed the tines of his fork into the sponge of the pudding, turning it to mush. _He’s nervous,_ Hermione thought with her own jolt of apprehension. 

“Erm - Ron-“ Her stomach flipped as he looked up expectantly at her, still absently toying with the pudding. “You’ve got a bit of sauce - just there-“ She pointed to the corner of her own mouth.

“Oh-“ Instantly he flushed a bright, burning crimson as he dabbed at his mouth. “Did I get it?”

“No-“ Hermione couldn’t stop the smile that took over her face. “It must be really sticky - here, let me-“

Willing her hand to stop shaking, she reached out and rubbed her thumb over the spot, her fingertips brushing his jaw. At the contact, her lungs all but ceased function: all she knew was freckled skin and dimples and bright blue eyes, so bright they nearly blinded her, and yet she couldn’t tear her own away from his face.

“There,” she breathed, the pad of her thumb trailing along the edge of his bottom lip. “Gone.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Thanks.”

She hadn’t let go of him yet - and really, did she have to? She was constantly holding herself back, policing herself, questioning how close was too close to sit with him on the common room couch and how many times she could touch him to get his attention without being obvious, when the truth was she didn’t _have_ to let anything stand in her way. All of the self-doubt and mixed signals and reasons not to go for it receded seamlessly into the distance, held at bay by his breath falling onto her finger, his reddened cheeks, his gaze that still held hers.

Flattening her fingers against his face, Hermione leaned forward and pressed her lips firmly to his. 

A millisecond passed - one that may well have contained several years - in which Ron froze, rendered immobile, but then he was kissing her back, and her fingers slipped into his hair, and his lips were warm and soft and tinged with sweetness, and one of his hands landed on her forearm, drawing her closer, closer, always closer. Were it not for the plethora of food still on the table between them, she might have crawled into his lap. There was no getting enough of him, not now, not ever.

Ron pulled back, drawing a shuddering breath, then kissed her gently once more. Hermione kept her eyes closed, desperate to cling to the moment. Outside the four walls of the kitchen lay responsibilities, final exams, and so much darkness that she could hardly bear it, but if she shut it all out, she could pretend that she might exist forever like this, with the taste of his lips still fresh on hers.

“Hermione?” said Ron, tentative, brushing a fluffy lock of hair behind her ear. She allowed herself to look at him, her hand dropping onto his shoulder. “We’re not finishing rounds tonight, are we?”

Her giddy smile matched his. “Not a chance.”


End file.
